


Catch Me If You Can

by vipjuly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel (Supernatural), Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Dean's Tiny Red Shorts, Knotting, M/M, Omega Dean Winchester, Power Bottom Dean Winchester, Rimming, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 20:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15155222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Runs, when the idea was first proposed, were heavily protested, mostly by angry betas and omegas who thought the whole thing was disgraceful, disrespectful, humiliating and degrading. The first Run provedeveryonewrong. It was emboldening, powerful,freeing. To pair omegasbiologicallywith an alpha was not only smart, but diplomatic. To give them the opportunity to make the alphaworkfor what they wanted was a unique twist on the archaic gender roles and stereotypes, and over the next decade, Runs became a popular way for young and healthy people to find the mate best suited for them.As soon as Dean presented as an omega, he knew it was what he was destined for.Dean Winchester has never been caught.





	Catch Me If You Can

Dean has been a runner for five years. He’s the best the association offers - fast, agile, _beautiful_. His body is lean from training and dieting, his skin is freckled from sun kisses, his hair perpetually windswept. All bets are always on him; only a fool would put their money on anyone else. He’s the showstopper, the crowd pleaser, the _one who cannot be caught_. 

Runs, when the idea was first proposed, were heavily protested, mostly by angry betas and omegas who thought the whole thing was disgraceful, disrespectful, humiliating and degrading. The first Run proved _everyone_ wrong. It was emboldening, powerful, _freeing_. To pair omegas _biologically_ with an alpha was not only smart, but diplomatic. To give them the opportunity to make the alpha _work_ for what they wanted was a unique twist on the archaic gender roles and stereotypes, and over the next decade, Runs became a popular way for young and healthy people to find the mate best suited for them.

As soon as Dean presented as an omega, he knew it was what he was destined for.

At over six feet and firmly stacked, with a mouth like a sailor and a fuck-you attitude, Dean is probably the worst omega to ever present. His scent isn’t sugary sweet like the typical omega; it’s thick and dark, full of leather and mandarin and patchouli. Dean turns heads. He starts fights. He respects the hell outta his alpha father and still wrestles with his alpha brother, and he can hold his own. His name is known worldwide - every year for the Run alphas come from all over the globe, greedy for a chance, desperate for a whiff.

Dean was just what the National Omega Runner Association was looking for. 

Unbeatable.

Uncatchable.

The course is a straight line, exactly one mile long. It’s littered with obstacles of all sorts; rock climbing walls, rope swings, mud pits, rolling logs on water. It’s like a Ninja Warrior course for courting. Every year it changes - gets harder, gets scarier, gets taller and dirtier. Every year, for the past five years, Dean has completed it and came out victorious, as well as unbonded.

No alpha can catch him.

The event is televised in front of a live crowd, and it always gets Dean ramped up. In the two months leading up to the event he poses in magazines, does TV interviews, and does his best as the face of NORA. He’s charming and handsome and knows everyone in the nation swoons over him whenever they’re provided an opportunity. It brings in a lot of money - which is just another thing to add to the Reasons Why Dean Winchester Is The Worst Omega Ever. He’s got his own money; he’s got it invested and he’s also got a nice house and a nice car and he’s so _independent_. He knows most of the alphas that audition to do the course and challenge Dean are looking to break him. Put him in his place. Show him exactly how an omega should be.

But, the hilarious thing, is that _no alpha can catch him_.

So subsequently, Dean is giving them all the middle finger, and putting _them_ in _their_ place.

This year Dean turned twenty-five, and according to all those stuffy, traditional, baby boomers, he’s nearing the end of his male-omega prime. More simply: his ability to breed is at its peak this year, and if he does not mate and breed sometime in the next ten months, he will lose the ability. 

Which, all in all, is totally fine with Dean. 

He’s not planning on getting mated any time soon. No one can catch him, and he doesn’t date.  
Having children isn’t something that crosses his mind frequently. No- he’d rather be the fun uncle to whatever hellspawn his baby brother helps create.

So, Dean refills his suppressant prescription for eight months out of the year and smiles sunnily at the condescending pharmacist.

It’s two months out from the Run and Dean has been off his suppressants for a week and has started birth control; he’ll spend the next part of his training honing in on all of his more primal instincts and abilities, knowing that the scent of a charged and heated alpha will definitely trigger his omega, and could compromise his ability to outrun said alpha. But Dean is a professional, and he’s damn _good_ at what he does. 

There are other omegas that run, too, of course. All omega contestants run seven times over the span of seven days - if they’re caught, they’re done. If they’re not…

Well. Dean’s the only one who doesn’t get caught.

But news from the alpha runner training centers circulates, and Dean’s personal trainer, a burly beta named Benny, has a fair share of gossip the next time Dean is hitting the weights.

“There’s a newcomer this year,” Benny says, his hands held out over Dean, who’s lying down as he bench presses two-hundred. “Name’s Novak.”

“Novak,” Dean puffs out as he brings the bar down to his chest slowly. “Sounds familiar.”

“They’re that really fancy alpha pack,” Benny supplies. “All they have are alphas in their bloodline.”

Dean snorts as he lifts the bar. “Buncha knotheads?”

“Actually, no,” Benny says, his cajun drawl drawing out his slightly surprised tone. “From what I hear, they’re pretty traditional, but they’re savvy. Business people.”

“Corrupt,” Dean supplies.

Benny laughs. “Maybe.”

With Benny’s help Dean puts the bar on the stand, sitting up and taking the offered towel to mop his face clean of sweat. “What’s a stuffy rich kid doing at an event like this? Don’t those traditional alpha families believe in, like, arranged marriages and shit?”

“S’what I thought, too,” Benny says thoughtfully. “But I hear word that this man is different.”

“Different?” Dean huffs, unimpressed. He stands and drapes the towel around his neck to send Benny an amused look. “All the alphas that do this competition are the same. They’ve got some sort of humiliation kink when they sign up to run against me, or they’re looking for an easy lay when they sign up to run against someone else.”

Benny cracks a grin and nods. “Ain’t that the truth, brother.” 

Dean claps his hands together. “Alright. Race you up the rock wall?”

“It ain’t a race when you leave me in the dust,” Benny says with a warm chuckle as he follows Dean towards the wall.

Novak, huh? 

\--

Omega runners aren’t allowed to see the alpha competition before the event. However, alphas have access to the omegas. They choose which omegas they run against; they learn all of their stats - age, weight, height, breeding status. They get pamphlets on the things the omega likes; hobbies, studies and the sorts. Along with the required blood test, alphas are given everything they need in order to pick which omega they would like to try to catch. It’s actually a pretty rational, well thought out process, to ensure that both alpha and omega are suitably matched with one another not only personally, but biologically. 

Omega runners aren’t allowed to see the alpha competition before the event, because it makes the chase much more fun. Exhilarating. _Effective_.

No one’s really at an advantage, and no one’s really at a disadvantage. 

Except for Dean, anyway. He’s always at an advantage because he always wins. 

It’s a week before the Run and Dean’s on some national morning talk show with a bunch of women, surrounded by beta and omega scents battling with floral perfumes. It’s kinda heady and giving Dean a little bit of a headache, but he appreciates that when it comes to events like this, no alphas are allowed near Dean. He’s been off of his suppressants now for two months and even though he’s not near a heat (and honestly, an alpha at a Run has never triggered a heat for him, because _he’s just that good_ ), he still smells plenty sweet, and alphas are absolutely not allowed to compromise him for any reason before the run. 

“You’re in the final year of your prime,” the main talk show host says to Dean. She’s a beautiful brunette beta named Lisa and Dean had immediately taken a shine to her; betas are known to be wild and adventurous, and Dean wonders if she’s into omegas. “You’ve won every single Run in the past five years, since your debut. Are you worried that you will come out of your prime unmated?”

Dean offers a charming smile, leaning back against the sofa and shrugging. “I ain’t worried about a single thing, Lisa.”

Her eyes twinkle in amusement, “And if an alpha catches you?”

Dean’s smile widens a fraction. “On the course isn’t the only place I’m capable of putting an alpha into submission.”

She laughs and fans herself with her notecards. “So you’re saying you don’t want pups?”

“It’s never really been something I’ve thought about,” Dean says easily. Admitting it on national television will stir the pot; Dean Winchester, Worst Omega Ever, doesn’t want pups? Add another tick to the list. “Maybe the right alpha could change my mind.” He shrugs, his grin turning wolfish. “They gotta catch me first.”

The crowd, comprised mostly of women, cheers and claps in reply. A lot of Dean’s fans are progressives, liberals in the fight for equal rights among all of the secondary genders. They’re making leaps and bounds and the archaic way of thinking is becoming less and less common. The Run is one way that the people can take control of the situation and remind the alpha patriarchy that they’re not all hot shit. Dean is more than happy to be a part of the movement. 

He’s lucky that he came from a pretty well-structured family; well-- he’s lucky that his mother had been Mary Winchester, because she would have kicked John’s ass for being any sort of discriminatory towards _her_ child. Dean’s pretty sure Mary’s ghost would haunt John if he did anything by the wayside towards Dean. But it also helped that, while John is a pretty stoic dude, he and Dean get along generally well. And it’s _because_ Dean is such a shitty omega. He’s pretty sure his father just ignores his secondary gender altogether. 

Which is fine by him. Outside of the Run he wishes everyone would ignore it. 

“In the off season, Dean, do you date?” Lisa asks curiously. It’s obviously written on her notecard, but she looks genuinely interested. 

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t. I work for my dad and uncle at an auto salvage and repair shop and am planning to actually take over once they retire. I’m pretty busy a lot of the time, so traditional courting doesn’t have much of a chance with me.” 

Lisa nods empathetically. “So do you do the run in the _hopes_ that you will get caught? So that you can skip all the tedious parts about courtship and just get right into the mating?”

Dean thinks about it. Honestly, he’s never thought about being caught. He’s only thought about getting away. Tilting his head a bit, he shrugs. “Whatever happens, happens. I’m not counting on anything except to go as fast as I can.”

The crowd claps and cheers again, and Dean sends a handsome smile out towards them. 

Huh.

 _What if_ he gets caught?

\--

The first day of the Run is always hectic. Handlers are busy shuffling omegas in and out of training rooms and photo ops and interviews, while alphas are kept away in seclusion. Each omega is required to give up a personal item cloaked in their scent to be given to the alpha - to trigger their primal instincts and get them ready for the race. Dean always picks up a pack of handkerchiefs and stuffs them in his pillow to sleep on for six months, that way he doesn’t have to worry about giving something away that actually has value to him. None of these alphas are going to catch him, so he doesn’t want to give anything up that he won’t see again. 

Dean is always last to run, every day. The crowd goes through ooh’s and ahh’s, ups and downs of omegas either getting caught or not. There are plenty of omegas to last all week in case one gets caught on the first day. The difference is, no alpha is allowed to run twice. If an alpha loses, they must try again next year. If an omega loses, they are still slotted to run the next day. Some omegas don’t even run at all during the whole week, depending on how successful the alphas are.

Each day holds ten runs. Each run is timed. Either beat the alpha to the finish line, or at fifteen minutes call a draw and quits - the omega will run another day, but the alpha is disqualified. This, of course, means that all of the alphas and omegas are in peak physical condition to complete such a complicated, difficult course in such a short time span. Most everyone reaches the finish line if they don’t get caught. 

Dean’s best time is eleven minutes. 

He always leaves alphas in the dust. 

This year’s course is rumored to be the most brutal yet. Of course, every year they do their best to improve it and create a challenge, but Dean makes every course his bitch. This year probably won’t be any different. 

He’s wearing red running shorts, the hem obscenely short - but it’s for function as much as tantalizing fashion. He’s wearing a white tank top and black sneakers and he looks like any other athlete preparing for an obstacle course. He’s a whole head taller than the tallest omega in the room, and twice as thick as all of them, and he always revels in the way that the other omega athletes send him curious glances. Few of them actually talk to him, either starstruck or intimidated, but this year a fiery redhead named Charlie has been talking his ear off for about ten minutes. 

“More girls should do this event!” she gushes. “I mean- yeah, ok, we can agree that the stereotype for female omegas being kinda weak and scrawny is a truly real thing, but when we train as much as male omegas do, we’re still good competition! I saw on the roster that you run against male and female alphas. That’s pretty sweet. This is my first year. I’m running against women.”

Dean likes Charlie. She’s not scared _or_ impressed by him - she’s just chatty and friendly and he likes that. Charlie’s ramblings get interrupted by her name being called and she punches Dean’s shoulder with a toothy grin, wishing him luck - like he needs it - before she heads out the door to race. The screen in the waiting room is displaying the live feed and Dean crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Charlie approach the course. Her stats appear in the scroll on the bottom of the screen: _CHARLIE… 23 years old, female omega, 5’3”, 110lbs, **FERTILE** , IT programmer_. 

Charlie bounces idly on her feet, ponytail bouncing as she waits for the alpha to join her. They will both take off from the starting line - Charlie out in the open, but the alpha behind a gate. It’s a way to control the alpha should they see the omega and try to catch them before the Run begins. No chasing will start until the gun fires and the gate door opens.

The alpha behind the gate is a pretty brunette woman, a fierce glint in her eyes and an interested smile on her lips. She can see Charlie, but the gate is about ten feet away from the omega. The alpha’s head tilts and she scents the air as her info scrolls across the bottom of the screen: _DOROTHY… 27 years old, female alpha, 5’5”, 130lbs, **FERTILE** , travel guide_.

Dean chuckles a little. Pairing a computer nerd with a nature buff. That’s actually kinda cute. The camera zooms out to show both runners and then there’s an aerial shot of the course - like this the sheer magnitude of the course is showcased, and never fails to make Dean’s heart rate spike. He knows that the viewers are also feeling their hearts pump with anxiety. 

The gun fires, and Charlie’s off like a rocket - but Dorothy is close behind her. Charlie scrambles up the first ramp and leaps for the rope that will swing her across the first mud pit; but Dorothy’s leap is mighty and long and she slams into Charlie before the rope even swings, both women careening down into the mud pit. 

Twenty-four seconds.

Twenty-four seconds is all it took for Dorothy’s alpha to go after its omega and claim her. Dean’s eyes widen. That’s the fastest record in the _history_ of the run. 

When both women come up for air they’re laughing and hugging, noses in each other’s necks, and Dean feels a warm smile curling over his lips. The success rate of bonded pairs from the run is incredibly high. Ninety percent. And those who don’t end up working out typically stay friends, since they’re matched so well anyway. It looks like Dorothy and Charlie will get along just fine. They get picked up by handlers who check to make sure they’re not injured and then escorted off the course, and then next omega and alpha are lead to the starting line. 

Thinking about the quick time that Dorothy had snagged, Dean starts to wonder if this year is going to be different, after all. Benny had mentioned that Novak guy, but he had also mentioned that the alphas this year seem to be of an entirely different physical class. They’re focused, strong, and determined. 

Dean wonders if this is the year he’ll get caught.

He watches the next race. The pair make it about halfway through the course before their time is up, the alpha disqualified and the omega taken away to be pampered in preparation to race again tomorrow. Dean drums his fingers over his bicep idly, a little antsy to get on the course. When the ninth run starts Dean is lead by a handler out towards the waiting area where he’s given gatorade and a hot towel; he takes only a sip of the drink and then drapes the hot towel over his neck, relaxing the muscles there. There’s no television screens in here, the area mostly quiet so that the omegas can gather their focus. He hears the gunshot that signals the start of the race, and out here he can hear the roar of the crowd. 

He shakes his hands out. Shifts his weight from foot to foot. Another gunshot signals the end of the race, fourteen minutes in. Letting out a breath. Dean focuses. 

Another Run. Another win. 

He’s got this. 

When he’s guided to the starting line all of his senses zoom in on the course. His nose picks up the scent of the alpha he’s been paired up with; a glance at the roster only gave him the name Michael, but Dean can smell him, and he doesn’t like it. His scent is too thick - too… wrong. Dean knows that sometimes the doctors fail at matching people, and that sometimes NORA lets real matches slide in order to give a good show. 

Michael isn’t a match for Dean, but he must be a hell of an athlete.

That ramps up Dean’s determination.

The gun raises, and Dean’s senses are so attuned to the course and the goings-on around it, he takes off right as the handler pulls the trigger. He darts off at the same exact time as the shot, climbing up the ramp. He knows Michael is hot on his heels - he hasn’t even _looked_ at the alpha, intent on not breaking his concentration. He jumps for the rope and uses it as a placeholder rather than actually swinging on it, relying on his upper body strength to catapult him towards the landing. He dives through the obstacles with little effort and reaches the salmon ladder quicker than he ever has. 

He doesn’t even look, he just jumps up to the bar, gripping onto the bar tight. There’s barely a pause before he starts rucking it up the slats, and he keeps his knees up to his chest so Michael can’t just reach out and grab one of his feet to yank him down. 

It works.

He reaches the top of the ladder and steps onto the next platform.

The wind changes direction, and he gets a whiff of Michael’s scent. 

This is the closest an alpha has ever been to Dean during the competition, and it’s making him a little nervous. Michael is clearly an _incredible_ athlete, and while Dean normally tunes out the crowd, their cheers are louder than ever, signalling a close race. 

Dean won’t stand for it. 

The rock wall is his best obstacle. He climbs gracefully and quickly, barely even looking where he’s going before he’s swinging up onto the top of it. A rolling log is the last obstacle - the runner must stay on their feet the whole way down to the finish line and land upright in order for it to count as a win. Dean steps onto it without blinking. The ride down is always perilous, no matter how much he trains, and when he makes it to the finish line he has to bend his knees to keep himself from falling over as he lands. 

The crowd roars.

Michael is at the top of the rolling log slope, and Dean finally lifts his gaze to look at him.

Oh, they would have looked great on the next cover of NORA magazine together. 

But Dean only smirks and lifts a hand in salute, smug, enjoying the pinched, angry expression on the alpha’s features. 

“Better luck next time!” the announcer yells. 

Dean turns and waves to the crowd.

He wins, again.

\--

Six races go by same as usual. Dean relying on his athleticism and sheer will to outrun every alpha they pair him against. On the third day Dean breaks his record of eleven minutes, that day completing the course in ten-and-a-half. Reporters are going crazy by the time the seventh day dawns; this year all omegas have been caught in the first run, for the first time, ever. There hasn’t been another mismatch like with Michael on the first day, and for that Dean is thankful, because Michael’s stink had made it almost impossible for him to win at all.

Michael had been the first one to come within arm’s reach of Dean on the course. 

On the seventh day Dean watches omega after omega get caught. The rumors about the alphas being particularly quick and agile this year apparently weren’t just rumors: Dean watches every alpha carefully, registering their strength, their sharp senses. More importantly, he watches how the alphas act when they catch their omega. 

Sweet. Loving. Grateful.

This year is truly the birth of a new generation. And Dean is a _part of that_ and it kinda makes him dizzy when he realizes it. This is the movement they’ve all been waiting for. The Run has finally achieved its goal of uniting all subgenders without discrimination. When the alphas and omegas leave the course there’s no façade to be dropped, no eyes to deceive, because when they scent bond they truly _bond_ and it’s… amazing. Dean has seen Charlie and Dorothy in the crowd tangled up in each other and looking like true mates and he thinks to himself, _This is it._

This is the culmination of what he’s been running for. To prove himself, and to help other omegas prove themselves, and be recognized with equality. The road is still long ahead of them but even Sam has mentioned over their nightly phone call that the world is changing. There are less knotheads roaming about, there are more omegas unafraid to be themselves (“Dean, hardly anyone is wearing scent blockers. I’ve never smelled so many omegas in my life. It’s amazing!”), and Sam has noticed more omegas on the roster for classes that are normally exclusive to alphas (engineering, law, sciences). Similarly, alphas are taking on roles typically reserved for omegas; there’s an alpha in the NORA nursery, and Sam says one of the new baristas at his favorite coffee shop is an alpha. 

It’s only a few handfuls of people, but it’s… _huge_.

This whole thing has always been bigger than Dean. 

He watches the ninth race of the day commence. 

What if he gets caught?

He shakes out his hands. 

This is the last race of the year. 

Things are changing.

What if he gets caught?

As he sees the omega fall off of the course and into the mud, the alpha dutifully falling after her to catch her and smother her with snuffles while she laughs and clings to him, he feels dread unfurl in the pit of his gut.

What if he _doesn’t_ get caught?

A handler comes in to take Dean towards the prep room. Dean closes his eyes and paces a few times, listening to the roar of the crowd. The Run always saves the best for last, and it’s always Dean, and he always wins. It revs up the crowd, it gets everyone excited for next year’s Run. That’s his _job_. 

The door opens and he steps out into the sunshine, the crowd absolutely _losing_ it. Approaching the starting line, Dean hasn’t checked to see what the name is of the alpha he’s running against today. He hasn’t checked any names since Michael. It left a bad taste in his mouth and almost threw his concentration and he refuses to risk that again. 

Pretty much every omega that runs the course relies on both athleticism and their primal instincts to run. But the thing is, is that no matter how athletic or limber or strong someone is, when they listen to their primal instincts, there’s still an instinct to _submit_ and _let_ the alpha catch them. Especially when they catch a whiff. 

Dean has learned to compartmentalize his strengths from his omega weaknesses and that’s what makes him the best. 

He jumps up and down a few times at the starting line. Throughout the course of the seven days he hasn’t washed his clothes once. His scent clings to him every time he pulls them on; there’s dampness in the pits of his tank top, in the seam of his shorts, because Dean isn’t a _delicate_ omega, he fucking sweats and he stinks and he he learned very quickly if he doesn’t wash his clothes during the run it typically throws off the alpha’s concentration.

It also makes them a little more wild, but he kind of likes that. 

The gun is raised. 

Dean hones all of his senses in on the first obstacle, the vertical ramp. He bends his knees, hands out to the side, and when the trigger is pulled Dean’s off like a shot, himself. 

He’s shocked to hear the gate open at the same time his feet move.

No alpha has timed their start with Dean’s. There’s always a split second delay, because the alpha has to hit their own release button. 

He’s tempted to look over his shoulder, but knows better. He rockets up the ramp easily, fingertips grabbing the ledge at the top to haul himself over. His blood is pumping a bit faster than normal. Part of the reason he leaves alphas in the dust is because he can get a head start on them. 

This alpha is different.

And not Michael different--

 _Good_ different.

Competitor different. 

Dean smirks to himself, his canines lengthening slightly as he uses the rope to swing across the large gap in the course. 

This is what he’s been waiting for.

He can hear the alpha’s breath a few paces behind him and is thankful that they’re running upwind, because he’s unsure if he’d be able to handle smelling the guy, too. The obstacles after the rope are pretty standard; a mud pit through barbed wire, tightwalk on a ledge, and when Dean makes his leap for the salmon ladder he hears a low growl behind him and feels the wind of the alpha’s fingers reaching out to swipe at his ankles. The alpha barely misses, but Dean feels the pinpricks on his skin as he starts his ascent. His biceps and chest are burning but the good thing about the salmon ladder is it allows a gap to form between competitors. The alpha won’t be able to start climbing until Dean finishes and the bar gets dropped down to the bottom.

Not even waiting to catch his breath, Dean starts on the rock wall. He’s pretty sure the bar to the salmon ladder didn’t even reach the bottom before the alpha grabbed it, because his ears pick up the sound of the alpha reaching the top in record time. 

Faster than Dean’s ever climbed it. 

His omega panics a little. There’s a _capable_ alpha hot on his heels - better competition than Michael had been, than _anyone_ had been - and Dean is barely ahead of him. The only reason there’s distance between them is because they both can’t do the salmon ladder at the same time.

Dean’s fingers slip on one of the holds. Holding on by three points he lets out a frustrated snarl and then jumps up to the next foothold, his free hand swinging up towards the top of the wall to grab the ledge. Instead of using the holds to finish his climb he just uses brute strength to swing himself up onto the ledge, his lungs burning, every muscle in his body screaming at him to slow down and do the course responsibly. 

He stares at the rolling log for a split second too long. 

The sudden, overwhelming presence of _alpha_ behind him nearly brings him to his knees. This alpha smells like leather-bound books, patchouli, and bergamot with a hint of orange and lemon and holy _shit_ he’s right behind Dean. 

Dean steps onto the log, but misjudges the roll. He flails a little, his right ankle rolls painfully, and he knows it’s game over when the alpha’s scent spikes in fear. Strong fingers curl around Dean’s bicep and an equally strong arm wraps around his waist to pull him back against the alpha and off of the log, which rolls down the slope towards the finish line without a rider. Dean is panting heavily, his head dizzy with the scent of the alpha and the pain of his ankle, eyes watching the log reach the end of the course.

Without him.

An airhorn blares, signalling the end of the race.

It’s dead quiet in the stadium. 

The alpha holding him is breathing heavily, firm chest heaving against Dean’s back, still holding Dean in his embrace. Where their skin touches, it sizzles.

Dean can’t believe it.

He lost. 

“Hello, Dean.”

The alpha’s voice barrels into Dean’s head like a freight truck and Dean’s knees weaken a little at the timber of it. The alpha chuckles and that tips Dean’s frustration over the edge as he yanks himself out of the man’s grip, turning around to give him a piece of his mind - but any and all argument and insult dies on his lips when he takes him in.

Only a few inches shorter than Dean, this alpha is… _incredible_. His dark hair is fucked up from wind and sweat, his tanned skin is flushed attractively, sweat gathering in the dips of his collarbone and dripping down to disappear underneath his tank top. He’s clean shaven, cheekbones high and jaw sharp, and when Dean finally has the decency to look into his eyes he’s struck by _blue blue blue_ , not alpha red, which is what he’d been expecting, honestly. He wears Dean’s scent-soaked handkerchief around his bicep.

“Fuck,” Dean breathes out. “Fuck!” he exclaims, covering his mouth with his hand because he’s unsure if the camera mics are picking up his frustration. This is a far cry from the happy omegas that melt into their alpha’s once they’re caught. No- Dean won’t do that. Can’t do that. No matter how amazing this alpha smells.

Dean Winchester has been caught.

“Dean Winchester has been caught!” The announcement roars through the stadium, and finally, _finally_ , the crowd makes noise. 

It’s all cheers. 

Dean feels dizzy. His omega feels… _incredible_.

“Dean?” the alpha’s voice sounds worried.

It’s the last thing Dean hears before he passes out. 

Dean Winchester has been caught. 

\--

Dean’s pissed.

He’s been a storm for three days.

He’s scheduled for interviews in two days and Dean can’t pull himself together. He got _caught_. 

The alpha that had caught him had been none other than Castiel Novak, one of those prestigious alphas Benny had told him about. And ok- alright, Dean respects the alpha’s athleticism, he fucking _respects_ the alpha who managed to catch Dean Winchester, the uncatchable, unattainable (terrible) omega. 

But he’s still _pissed_.

And he’s probably pissed mostly because he had requested to not see Castiel after the race, and Castiel had _obliged_. Didn’t raise a fuss. Didn’t say anything like “I have a right to see _my omega_ ”. Had said something along the lines of “I understand”, left his number with the handlers, and then disappeared. 

Because Dean had asked him to. 

Even though their touches branded, their scents reached out towards each other, their alpha and omega more than one-hundred percent compatible.

It’s unheard of for a caught omega to refuse to see their alpha, but as Dean stews and prepares for the interviews he doesn’t want to do, the magazine he doesn’t want to shoot, he couldn’t give a fuck. He’s been avoiding the news because he knows what all of the headlines are going to say. Sam artfully dodges the topic during their nightly phone calls (which could barely even count as anything, because Sam calls and talks about whatever and Dean just grunts in reply, but Sam is a good brother and doesn’t force Dean to talk about anything he doesn’t want to), and his dad and Bobby don’t say a single thing when he stops by the shop to get a little bit of paperwork done - more to clear his head than really offer any sort of real help to the shop. 

The interviews and the magazine shoot are going to span three days. Dean will be forced to interact with Castiel, then. Not only because they are a caught pair, but because _Dean Winchester has been caught_ and everyone wants to get their greedy claws into Castiel Novak to see what kind of alpha he is.

 _A good alpha_ Dean’s brain supplies against his will.

And since alphas are kept hidden away all throughout the training before the races and during the race itself, _everyone_ is clamoring for a chance to talk to him. 

And alright, now that Dean has a bit of a clearer head, he’s curious about Castiel, too. He’s curious as to why someone from the Novak clan would do the race rather than stick with their traditions. He wonders why Castiel got biologically chosen to race against him. He wonders why Castiel got personally chosen to race against him. 

He wonders why Castiel hadn’t scent marked him immediately upon capture. 

He wonders why Castiel had let him go. 

He wonders why he hasn’t just called Castiel on his own to meet up and get some answers. 

He wonders, because Dean has felt something he’s never felt before. An inexplicable pull. A vibration. A _rumble_.

The kind that… true mates talk about.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean looks out of the window of the backseat of the car he’s currently in, heading towards the television studios. He brings his emotions under control, pretty easy to do since he’d started up on his suppressants again the day after the Run, but he still worries about stinking up the place with his anxieties. 

Dean Winchester doesn’t get nervous.

 _Dean Winchester doesn’t get caught_.

At the studio handlers greet Dean and bring him towards the green room. He’s mic’d up, the handlers impersonal as they clip the mic in the space between buttons on the red flannel he’s wearing and hook the small box onto the back of his belt. Someone hands him a bottle of scent blockers and Dean spritzes himself mindlessly with it, used to this being the protocol when the races are over. 

No need for him to smell so sweet anymore. 

Once he’s all done it’s nearly time to air, so he’s lead out towards the set. Lisa is sitting in a wing chair, already deep in conversation with… Castiel.

And crap, if Castiel looked good wearing running shorts, a tank top, and sweaty beyond belief, he looks… _amazing_ right now. Black slacks, a deep indigo button down, his hair still wild as hell and his smile kind as he listens to Lisa talk. 

He’s easily the hottest alpha that has ever done the race.

Dean suddenly realizes how monumental his catching is. 

Castiel Novak, prestigious rich kid from a well-to-do family with a long lineage of alphas, who probably has more money in his bank account than all of the audience members combined, caught Dean Winchester, small town omega with a humble upbringing and an affinity to work with his hands and hang out with the ‘common folk’.

And Dean’s not stupid.

He knows how good they’re gonna look standing next to one another. Sitting next to one another. Touching one another.

Dean swallows the nerves currently trying to clog his throat and reminds himself that while Castiel comes from a rich background, Dean has done his fair share of hard work to get to where he is today. He’s an independent omega, and even though he’s stayed humble throughout everything (like the influx of his bank account after every Run thanks to sponsors and royalties), he’s got nothing to be afraid of. 

Castiel glances up when he sees Dean approaching the couch. They’ll be right next to each other, of course. His blue eyes are soft and when Dean gets close enough, Castiel tilts his head slightly to expose his throat and Dean feels his stomach swoop.

Castiel is submitting to him.

Dean feels equal parts powerful and irritated. 

He ignores the display and sits down with about half a foot of space between himself and Castiel, smiling at Lisa when she beams at him. 

“Dean! How are you?” she greets. 

“M’ good, Lis, how are you?” he replies, and it’s a lie, but he knows he’s convincing because she smiles wider. 

“I’m _amazing_. To be your first interview after the Run…” Lisa laughs a little, uncrossing and crossing her legs. She’s wearing a pantsuit today and damn it, she’s so pretty. “I can’t believe how many favors I had to call in to snag you guys.”

“Aw, Lis,” Dean cajoles slightly, his usual flirty smile curling his lips, “you coulda just called me and I would have refused to do anyone else first.”

Lisa blushes attractively and laughs again. “Well, shoot. Next time I’ll do that.”

Castiel hasn’t said a word. A subtle sniff lets Dean know that he’s wearing blockers as well, and Dean does his best to not be disappointed. Castiel smells _amazing_. He smells… _complementary_. And Dean’s stubborn but he’s not stupid. Castiel is the perfect match for him biologically.

This interview will be the first peek into seeing if Castiel will be a good match personally.

True mate or not.

The camera crew gets to their spots and call for quiet on the set, and Dean relaxes into the couch because interviews are something he could do in his sleep. For the past five years he’s become a pro, and being on television no longer makes him anxious or jittery. Next to him Castiel relaxes his posture slightly, but he’s still a bit tense, and Dean can surmise that this is his first television appearance. 

As the camera focuses on Lisa while she goes through the typical morning introductions and headlines, Dean lifts a hand to cover his mic so he can sit up and lean towards Castiel to murmur in his ear.

“Relax a little. It’s like talking with an old friend. You ain’t gotta impress nobody here,” he says. 

Castiel’s head tilts towards Dean, and when he turns blue eyes towards the omega, the slight playfulness in them sends a _whoomp_ through Dean’s gut. “I’ve yet to impress you, haven’t I?”

The words derail Dean a little. “You caught me.”

“Did I?” Castiel’s gaze drops briefly towards Dean’s mouth.

“Uh,” Dean replies smartly. 

“I caught you, Dean, but I have not impressed you.” 

“No one’s caught me before,” Dean bristles, like it should be obvious that it was impressive. 

“Excuse me for confusing your impression with annoyance,” Castiel says a little dryly, even though the corners of his mouth are twitching. 

Dean hates the way his belly swoops with Castiel’s attention on him.

“And now, the man who cannot be caught--” 

Dean’s attention snaps back to reality, putting a bit more space between himself and Castiel as he turns his attention towards the crowd, whose eyes are all zeroed in on him and Castiel despite whatever other news Lisa had to offer them.

“--we have Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak here today, the final runners. And what a finale it was!” 

The crowd applauds, a few people hooting and hollering. Dean offers what he hopes is an easy smile and he sees Castiel nod in acknowledgment out of the corner of his eye. 

“We all know and love our Dean,” Lisa continues. “But Castiel is a new face. You’ve never competed in the run before this year. What made you decide to enter?”

“My family is very traditional,” Castiel replies, his smooth cadence immediately drawing the audience captive. “While I respect their traditional ways, I have always been a bit of a … black sheep. It is tradition that a Novak should be mated and with pups by the age of twenty-five, but I am well past that mark. The Run has always interested me as an athlete. I spent the past four years training.”

Dean’s brows raise in surprise. Castiel spent _four years_ training before he competed? No wonder he caught Dean. Dean himself had trained for three years before joining the run. 

“Four years of training!” Lisa echoes. “And this year was the year you decided to run. Any particular reason you chose this year over the previous years?”

Castiel drums his fingers idly over his knee, the only tell that he’s unsure if he should say what he’s about to say. “Dean is the reason I ran.”

Ok. There’s no masking the surprise on Dean’s face now. Even the crowd gasps, like they’re watching some sort of romance novel unfold in front of them. 

Lisa blinks. “Dean is the reason you ran? He’s been running for five years.”

“Yes, well,” Castiel seems _sheepish_. Dean’s not about to judge a guy for not being ‘very alpha’, but Castiel is his own class. “In my training I’ve been running against Dean’s ghost since the first day. His times and his efficiency in completing the obstacles is unparalleled. Many of the alphas I knew in training were just training to be good- strong, agile, fast. Many of them didn’t want to be paired up with Dean because they knew they were going to lose.”

This is the first time Dean is hearing this information. His head is swimming.

“Many alphas train to run because they are looking for a mate. They trust that the system will pair them up with a suitable, successful match. So they train to be strong enough, agile enough, and fast enough to catch whatever omega is paired with them.” Castiel’s gaze slides over towards Dean, blue eye pinning the omega to the couch. “I trained, specifically, to run against Dean.”

Dean can’t think of anything to say. He knows that the alphas that got paired up against him were excited for a challenge, a true adrenaline rush, but he knows that it was luck of the draw that paired pretty much all of them with him. But to hear that Castiel had _specifically_ trained to run against him, waited until this year to compete… Dean feels a little woozy.

“The runners are matched biologically and through common interests in the prelims,” Lisa says. “How did you know you would be matched up with Dean?” It’s the question that has everyone on the edge of their seats.

Castiel is still looking at Dean, though his gaze turns a little thoughtful. “I didn’t. I just had… faith.” 

The crowd lets out a few ooh’s and ahh’s and there are a lot of women cooing and Dean feels his face heat up. What the hell? 

“This is the first time we’re hearing much of anything about alpha training,” Lisa says, a bit of excitement in her voice. 

“Yes,” Castiel turns his attention back towards Lisa. “Most of our training is kept under wraps. I, however, trained privately. I’m afraid there are no secrets I can spill for you.”

Lisa laughs in good nature, “Darn.” Her attention turns towards Dean. “Dean, it looks like you’ve been caught by a true admirer.”

“Seems like it,” Dean replies, almost by default. There’s a little bit of warmth in his voice that he can’t control; his omega is _preening_ at the thought that Castiel had trained specifically to run against him and had waited all this time for the opportunity to arise. Four years is a long time. 

“I hope I’m not prying too much,” Lisa says, but she’s a fucking reporter basically, so she’s not really sorry about what she’s about to ask, “but you two aren’t scent bonded.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “No, we’re not.” 

“May I ask why?” Lisa presses.

It’s Castiel that answers, “Just because I caught Dean, does not mean we will bond. It is written nowhere in the rules that he must submit to me upon capture.” The crowd gasps quietly. “If Dean does not wish to scent bond, then we will not. He is to be respected.”

The crowd goes wild with applause and cheering. Dean can’t fight the blush blossoming on his cheeks. He stares at Castiel in disbelief, who has a small, honest smile on his lips as he waves politely to the crowd like some sort of fucking politician. Lisa has to wave her hands a few times to get the crowd to hush, and then she turns her surprised gaze towards Castiel. 

“If you don’t scent bond,” Lisay says, “If you don’t mate-- that means Dean qualifies to run again next year.” 

Castiel leans back against the couch, crossing his legs to try and exude aloofness, but this close Dean can smell the faint, _faint_ spike of anxiety that shoots through the alpha. “Dean is his own person. He’s the best runner to ever compete. I would not- I _will not_ take that away from him.”

Dean flaps his lips a little. What can he say to that? He had always assumed that, if he ever got caught, that would be it. He’d get mated, put a picket fence in his yard, and get swollen with pups. He always figured that he’d submit to his own omega instincts and get wrapped up in that apple pie life. 

He never in his wildest dreams expected the catch-and-release.

Not from an alpha.

Not from an alpha that _trained specifically to run against him_.

Not from an alpha who could potentially be his true mate.

Despite Castiel saying he won’t force claim on Dean, Dean finds a surge of want furrowing deep in his belly. This is a respectable alpha, a kind alpha- smart and handsome and holy shit. 

Dean comes to the sudden realization that yes, he _definitely_ would want to mate this man. This man who respects Dean’s independence and doesn’t want to change a damn thing about him. This man who would just… _give Dean up_ instead of forcing him into anything. 

Dean’s omega keens with want.

Despite the blockers, his knows his scent changes minutely - Castiel’s nose twitching is all the confirmation he needs. But because Castiel is fucking _perfect_ and polite and gentle, he doesn’t make a move towards Dean at all. 

“Dean runs because it is his passion. It would be rather unkind… un _alpha_ of me to take away something that he loves.”

Dean stands, his body moving without his permission. Lisa startles a bit in surprise, but Castiel just turns cool blue eyes up at the omega, an eyebrow arched. “Cas. I need to talk to you. Right now.” 

Surprise flickers over Castiel’s face and Lisa quickly calls for a commercial break as the alpha stands. Dean stalks off the set to head towards the green room, knowing Castiel is on his heels, and once they’re in private and Castiel has clicked the door shut behind him, Dean turns around and lurches forward to grab Castiel’s shirt by the collar, pressing his nose into the hollow of the alpha’s throat. 

“Dean-” Castiel’s hands raise, but they don’t land. There’s question and surprise in Castiel’s voice and Dean fruitlessly tries to scent him, letting out a little growl when the blockers keep him from getting what he wants.

“You’ve been watching me for five years,” Dean breathes. “You trained to run against _me_. You didn’t even know if we would get matched- but we did.” He crowds Castiel until the alpha’s back hits the door. Castiel allows him. “ _Fuck_ , why are you wearing blockers?”

“Same reason as you,” Castiel replies, though his voice hits a lower pitch than normal. 

“Did you know?” Dean presses. His voice is still a little growly. Castiel’s head tilts in supplication, and Dean huffs against it. “Did you know we were true mates?” 

“I-” Castiel finally lets his hands rests on Dean’s biceps. “I held out hope.” _I had faith_.

Dean finally pulls back so he can look Castiel in the eye. He finds nothing but honesty, integrity swirling in those deep blues and Dean feels all sorts of emotions twist up inside of him. Anxiety, fear, affection, loyalty, desperation. His fingers flex in the starched collar of Castiel’s shirt a few times before he pulls away, his hindbrain whining, but his rationale winning out. 

“A’right.” Dean exhales shortly. 

Castiel blinks a few times. “Alright…?” 

“Let’s- tonight. Dinner.” 

Castiel softens. “Dean, you don’t-”

“Lemme get this straight, ok? Something I’m pretty sure you already know.” Dean points a finger at Castiel. Brave omega. “I don’t do _anything_ I don’t want to do. I don’t let people tell me what to do, or push me around, or- or- _persuade_ me. I do what I want because _I_ want to do it. I don’t feel obligated to go out to dinner with you, ok? I don’t feel obligated to you at all. But-” he licks his lips, resisting running a hand through his neatly styled hair. “But you were gonna let me go.” He sounds way more defeated than he wants, and he hates it.

Castiel reaches up hesitantly, before he cups Dean’s jaw. That sizzling returns, that inferno in his veins upon contact, and their eyes meet. “I know you do what you want, Dean. Which is why I just told the entire world that I will not tell you what to do.”

Dean searches his eyes. “Would you really be alright with me leaving you? Competing again?”

“You are not mine to control,” Castiel says easily. “And even if you were mine, control is not something I am after.”

Dean’s gaze turns calculating, before he pulls bodily away from Castiel. With their scent blockers it’s easy to keep his mind straight, even if his omega is still yearning to get a whiff. “You’re…” he lets out a huffy chuckle. “You’re a terrible alpha.”

Castiel allows a wry smile to curl his lips. “And you’re a terrible omega.”

Dean laughs a little louder, feeling much more at ease. “Fuckin’ right I am.”

\--

For all that Castiel is a terrible alpha, that’s just to mean… _instinctually_. He holds himself with elegance and power, he’s well spoken, and he commands attention pretty much everywhere he goes. Physically, as well, he’s a good alpha - strong, solid, athletic. 

It’s just… when he comes to pick up Dean for dinner, he’s not all big bad alpha, and Dean kinda… really likes it. 

Dean has never really thought about what kind of alpha he’d be attracted to. He’s spent so much time literally running away from them on the course and cutting them down in public that he never thought about dating one. For some reason he always envisioned himself settling down with a beta. A woman. Like Lisa. 

But now that Dean has Castiel in his sights, now that his hindbrain is scratching at the surface insistently for the first time since presenting… He can’t imagine wanting anything else. Castiel dresses in slacks and button-downs like it’s all he’s got, black pants hugging him in all the right places, the buttons of his white shirt stretched taut over his broad chest. He’s… delicious. And dorky, since he managed to dress so nice but still left his hair fucked three ways from Sunday.

Dinner is a little awkward. Castiel comes to Dean’s house to pick him up, but one look at Castiel’s car had Dean laughing outright and saying he’s not setting foot inside. Castiel had looked a little pouty, but allowed Dean to lead him to his garage where his beautiful Baby was waiting. Castiel, after getting inside and reverently running his fingers along the dash, gives Dean directions to a restaurant. It’s a little stuffy for Dean’s tastes, but it’s a good place for the paparazzi and journalists to catch sight of them, which he will allow. 

He’s got one more year of fame left, potentially - one more year of royalties and gifts from NORA. In eight months Dean will publicly announce whether or not he’ll run again; in eight months he’ll announce if he is mated, or if he is still single.

The way Castiel looks up at him through his lashes as they look over the menu has Dean already leaning strongly towards the first option.

And tonight they’re not wearing scent blockers; Castiel’s scent is rich and aromatic and still so, so complementary to Dean’s own. Orange blossom and leather bound books mix with mandarin and motor oil and it’s… _heady_. Dean can barely focus on the menu, also attuned to the other patrons turning their way and whispering amongst themselves. Probably everyone in a seven block radius can smell them, and Dean has always been proud of his self-control, but he’s finding himself equally impressed by Castiel’s. 

It doesn’t last long.

A bottle of wine is brought to the table and Dean stares at it for a second, along with Castiel, and it’s Castiel who breaks the stiff silence that’s been stretching for the past ten minutes.

“I hate wine.”

Dean lets out a relieved sigh. “Me, too.” 

Castiel glances around the restaurant. “I hate this restaurant.”

Amusement laces through the fire in Dean’s gut. “Me, too.” 

Dark blue eyes regard Dean coolly, the faintest red tinge outlining the irises. “I live approximately seventeen blocks from here.” 

Adrenaline spikes in Dean’s scent. “Do you?”

Castiel nods. “Would you like to… follow me?” His body tenses slightly, and Dean recognizes it as fight or flight mode - recognizes it as flight mode after a whiff, the red tinge in Castiel’s eyes slowly starting to bleed into blue. 

Dean knows gold flecks are blossoming in his own green eyes as he licks his lips, parting them in a salacious smirk to show off his sharpening canines. “I’ll give you a thirty second head start.”

There’s a moment’s pause, Castiel’s fingers gripping the edge of the table. The beta waiter, still holding the presented wine bottle, opens his mouth to say something - but then Castiel shoots off like a bullet, the glassware on the table rattling, the only thing left of him as he runs out of the restaurant the heavy smell of patchouli and musk and _arousal_.

Dean sends what he hopes is a sunny smile up to the beta, “I’m sorry for the trouble.” He pulls out his wallet and puts enough cash on the table to cover _four_ bottles of wine and stands up coolly, smoothing his hand down his black dress shirt. Running in denim jeans and boots isn’t going to be terribly comfortable, but he’ll make do. The other customers are now staring at Dean without hiding it, clearly startled by Castiel’s sudden departure, and Dean feels his blood _singing_ , his omega dying to give chase after his alpha. 

His alpha.

Dean leaps over Castiel’s discarded chair and takes off running, following the alpha’s scent. He takes a sharp left leaving the restaurant and sprints down the sidewalk, and doing an obstacle course is one thing, but a straight sprint is something Dean hasn’t done in far too long. Castiel has an impressive lead on him even with the head start and Dean has to remind himself that _this_ is the alpha that caught him, _this_ is the alpha that trained for years, _trained for Dean_ , this is the alpha that is _worthy_ of Dean. 

A left at an intersection and he can see Castiel one block ahead of him, dodging the crowd and benches and street lights as he runs. Dean is doing much of the same; at the next intersection as soon as Castiel crosses the light changes from WALK to DO NOT WALK and Dean makes a split second decision to just go for it. A car screeches to a halt and Dean slides over the hood of it on his ass, legs in front of him, flashing the startled driver a smile as he lands and continues running. 

How fitting, Dean thinks, that after years of running from alphas, his true mate is running from _him_. The thrill of the chase is exhilarating and Dean’s adrenaline and arousal are pumping, his focus waning only slightly when he feels the first telltale signs of slick dripping down the insides of his thighs. He can control it for now - always has been able to control his omega instincts when engaging himself athletically - but he knows as soon as they cross the threshold of Castiel’s home it’s going to be game over.

And oh, is he looking forward to that. 

He watches Castiel hurdle over a bus bench and his omega growls in reply, the show of athleticism from his alpha doing way more than any sort of posturing could. People are starting to dodge out of the way of the men as they barrel down the sidewalk - seven blocks completed - and Dean is flushed and panting and he’s not winded by any means, but God, Castiel’s _ass_ looks so fucking good. 

At the next intersection Castiel blows through it with the light green, and Dean has to skid to a stop so he doesn’t run directly into the side of a delivery truck. He curses under his breath and smacks the side of the trailer as it drives away, and now traffic is flowing too steadily to cross. On the other side of the crosswalk Castiel has stopped so he can send Dean a smug smirk - a fresh wave of arousal pulses off of Dean when he sees Castiel’s white smile, his slightly stubbled jaw, his hair windswept and sweat stains under his pits and collar. 

Dean growls loud enough for everyone in a ten foot radius to scurry away from him, and Castiel turns on heel and rockets down the sidewalk once more. Dean bounces from foot to foot and waits for traffic to slow at the yellow light before darting off, expertly dodging any cars that don’t stop directly on the pedestrian line. He’s still not closing in on Castiel and he _loves_ that Castiel has the advantage here - that Castiel is a worthy opponent. Put a rock climbing wall or a rolling log in front of Dean and he can spank any competition, but it looks like a straight run is Castiel’s best subject. 

It’s fucking hot as hell.

Another sharp corner and Dean registers that they’ve entered a part of town with high rise condos and stuffy businesses. Castiel is still running like a demon out of hell and Dean loves that he’s tossed away all rich pretenses in order to do this - in order to compete in a run that his family probably heavily disagreed to, in order to run through his own neighborhood, an alpha being chased by an omega, _totally unheard of_ , and Castiel clearly not giving a fuck who sees him (alpha) being chased by Dean (omega). 

Castiel enters a building at least forty stories tall, the roundabout glass doors catapulting him inside. Dean has to wait for them to come around again but he’s _so close_ to Castiel he can taste him. Waiting for the doors to come around is a second too long, though, because when Dean comes out the other side Castiel is standing in an elevator, the doors closing as he holds up his fingers and hands to flash ‘24’ at him. 

There’s only one elevator. 

Dean doesn’t waste a second before he slams through the door that leads to the stairwell. Twenty-four floors will be a piece of cake. He takes the steps three at a time, using a hand on the rail to help propel himself forward. Every fourth floor he jumps the rail and swings himself up, knowing he needs to cover as much ground (stairs) as possible to keep up with the elevator rising. In the stairwell it’s stifling hot and he can’t smell anything but old air conditioning filters and the occasional fragrance of a family cooking dinner, and it refocuses him. Twelve. Sixteen. Twenty.

On the twenty-fourth floor he’s winded but not exhausted, sweat staining his clothes, his omega scent permeating when he bursts through the door on Castiel’s floor. On the opposite end of the hallway the elevator opens and Castiel doesn’t look surprised to see Dean - he darts out of the elevator towards the right and Dean is already giving chase, arms pumping, thighs burning as he rounds the corner. Castiel is fumbling with the key to his door, unable to get it into the lock, and finally, _finally_ Dean is on him, slamming into his back and pinning him to the door with his slightly taller body. Castiel’s scent makes Dean keen with want, the sweat between them amplifying all of their hormones, and Dean scrapes his teeth over Castiel’s sweaty nape, tongue swiping up the salt hungrily. 

“Gotcha,” Dean breathes, lungs heaving, voice ragged and low with his growl.

Castiel grinds backwards against Dean as he finally gets his key into the lock, and when the door opens they both tumble gracelessly inside. Castiel slams the door shut with his foot and pins Dean up against it, their mouths colliding, following nothing but instinct as their teeth gnash and their hands tear at clothes. They’re _drenched_ in sweat and pheromones and Dean reaches up to tangle his fingers in Castiel’s wet hair, yanking his head away and tilting it so he can lean in and greedily scent the hollow of his throat. Castiel lets out a broken groan and trembles, allowing Dean control, his hands gripping the omega’s hips to keep him pinned up against the door. 

Panting, Dean lets his sharp canines drag across Castiel’s skin, before he pulls back and grabs the front of Castiel’s shirt. In one huge motion he tears the shirt in half, buttons skittering across hardwood floors and disappearing under furniture. Castiel’s eyes are blood red, pupils dilated, fangs elongated as he tips his head back in submission. Dean pushes on his chest to get him to stumble backwards; Castiel gets the idea and reaches forward to give Dean’s shirt the same treatment, one of the sleeves ripping clean off before he tosses it aside. Dean’s mouth attaches to Castiel’s collarbone, sucking a dark bruise into the flesh, licking up the sweat pooled there like it can quench his thirst. Together they manage to make it to Castiel’s bedroom - Dean doesn’t care about looking at anything other than the king sized bed, which he promptly picks Castiel up and throws him onto.

Castiel lands with a bounce and a grunt that quickly turns into a growl, his hands moving to unbuckle his belt and whip it off. Dean is taking off his pants at the same time to fully undress and then he’s climbing atop a naked Castiel, sweat soaking into the sheets, slick dripping down Dean’s thighs. He sits on Castiel’s stomach to keep him pinned and then grabs Castiel’s hands, which try to land on his thighs, so he can pin those above Castiel’s head. He smirks wickedly down at Castiel, eyes gold and gleaming, and then grinds his hips so he can smear his slick all over Castiel’s rippling abs. 

Castiel lets out a groan and tips his head back, baring his throat, allowing Dean to take control. Dean rocks his hips a few times, dragging his taint and balls over Castiel’s tanned, muscled torso, and then he’s shifting so he can climb up Castiel’s body, thighs straddling Castiel’s face. 

With his hands still pinning Castiel’s, Dean positions himself so his dripping hole is over Castiel’s face, watching as a few drops of slick land wetly on Castiel’s cheeks and chin. 

“Eat me.”

He lets go of Castiel’s hands and is pleased when Castiel grabs both of his ass cheeks, yanking him down towards his mouth. The burn of his stubble against his skin feels amazing and Dean pants out, straightening his body to run his palms over his chest, pinching his nipples between his fingers and dropping his head back so he can pant wildly. Castiel allows him to rock his hips, to fuck down and ride Castiel’s face, feeling the alpha’s tongue spear into his hole and lick out more slick to swallow down. Dean’s cock is hard and leaking but he ignores it, the length of it bobbing, the swollen head occasionally bumping against Castiel’s hair and leaving pearly trails of precum behind in the dark strands. 

Castiel doesn’t come up for air. He’s breathing heavily, his chest heaving with every inhale of Dean’s scent, which is getting thicker with sweetness as his arousal amps up, lilac and peach permeating the room better than any scented candle could. Castiel clearly can’t get enough. He _sucks_ and more slick gushes from Dean’s hole, so much that Castiel can’t swallow it all, thick globs of it dripping down his jaw, throat, and staining the bed. They’re so fucking messy, covered in sweat, precum and slick and Dean can’t help but rock his hips harder, trying to get Castiel’s tongue deeper.

That wicked tongue curls inside of Dean’s body just as he twists his nipples _just right_ and Dean cries out, his first orgasm quaking through his frame. He changes the angle of his body a bit so he can pull back, his cock spilling cum in ropes over Castiel’s face, squirt drizzling out of his sloppily stretched hole in a flood over Castiel’s chest. 

This alpha is _his_.

Castiel basks in it, reaches up to smear Dean’s cum over his face and collect it in his fingers to suck it into his mouth. Red eyes open up and look up at Dean with heat, adoration, and arousal. Dean’s body is trembling slightly from the intensity of the orgasm, the fact that he has an alpha willfully submitting to him definitely driving him wild, and it takes a second for him to come back to himself. When he does he scoots back on Castiel’s body until he’s sitting on his thighs, keeping his legs pinned to the bed.

Regaining his breath, Dean takes Castiel’s cock in hand, marveling at the size. Christ, how does he _run_ with this thing swinging between his legs? Dean’s mouth waters at the length, the thickness of it. The swell of Castiel’s knot is just barely there, the alpha still clearly restraining himself. Now that Dean is down here Castiel’s scent almost chokes him, it’s so thick with musk and orris, complementing Dean’s own floral fragrance perfectly. Their scents are already mingling, entwining with one another, and Dean already knows he’s going to scent bond with Castiel, but it’s _fascinating_ for their scents to start twining together on their own, without the press of scent glands or release of mating pheromones. 

Castiel’s hips buck minutely, and Dean comes back to reality, wrapping all ten fingers around Castiel’s cock and giving it a languid, slow, _tight_ jerk. He squeezes some precum from the tip and Castiel lets out a shuddery breath, tangling his hands in the sheets, clearly catching on that Dean doesn’t want him to touch him unless he instigates it. Dean loves an alpha that can catch on quickly.

Then again, Dean’s never had an alpha, and the fact that he has _this one_ writhing in submission and want beneath him has his cock coming back to life quicker than ever. 

Dean strokes Castiel’s cock a few times before he leans down and licks away the pearly bead at the tip. Castiel growls low in the back of his throat, his scent and his taste exploding over Dean’s tongue. Dean spears his tongue a little and slips the tip into the slit, tonguing it open slightly, enjoying the way Castiel gasps in surprise and pleasure. Pulling back with a lip smack and a little suck, Dean toys with Castiel’s hole a bit, testing the waters, seeing what exactly Castiel will allow him to get away with. 

Castiel only squirms and moans in reply, his cock leaking steadily, his knot starting to swell. Just from the attention to his urethra he’s getting wrecked and oh, fuck, Dean is sure that even if he didn’t have the inkling that Castiel is his true mate, he would keep him around just for the hint of adventure. Dean thinks of a million different ways to stuff Castiel, in all his different holes, and moans when he feels his slick start dripping again, coating the fine hair on Castiel’s thighs. 

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean says, his voice ruined and thick with want. 

“Dean,” Castiel moans in reply, finally opening his crimson eyes to look down at Dean, locking their gazes. “Please.”

Hearing an alpha say ‘please’ sets a fire in Dean’s belly. Hearing _Castiel_ say please has him reaching behind himself, swiping his fingers through his slick so he can wet Castiel’s cock. He can’t wait any longer. He’s already one orgasm in and Castiel has been so good, so patient for him. Adjusting himself so he can crawl up Castiel’s body, Dean hovers over his hard cock and leans down to kiss filthily into Castiel’s mouth, tongue swiping in, tasting his own cum and slick mixture. 

Dean’s hole hasn’t been prepped, but this is how he likes it, and how no one will ever give it to him. Castiel allows him to do what he wants, only resting his hands on Dean’s hips to connect them, ground them, his knees bending slightly. Dean reaches down to grab Castiel’s cock and guide the head to his entrance, rubbing the tip teasingly against his puffy, sticky slick rim. He does that a few times, Castiel’s eyes rolling into the back of his head, fingers flexing so hard over the jut of Dean’s hip bones there are going to be thumbprint bruises in the morning. Another few swipes, Dean’s muscles flexing to squeeze out more slick, allowing Castiel to feel every drip and slide of it down the length of his shaft - and then Dean starts sitting down on Castiel’s cock, a long, drawn out moan leaving his throat as he feels every fucking millimeter slide into him. 

It takes twenty grueling seconds for Dean to sit all the way down. Twenty seconds of Castiel cursing under his breath, of Castiel’s knees shifting slightly, of Castiel’s fingers moving so he can drag blunt nails up Dean’s sides, leaving red welts in their wake. Once Dean is seated he stays still, adjusting to the sensation of being filled with an alpha cock; the burn, the stretch, the pain and the pleasure all swirling around in his gut and expanding through his extremities. A fresh burst of book pages and patchouli assault Dean’s senses and that spurs him into moving, grinding back and forth, just reveling in the sensation of Castiel’s cock pressing against every single space inside of him. He does that for a few moments, regulating his breathing, hands on Castiel’s chest, palms cupping the alpha’s firm, round pecs, and Jesus Christ. 

This is it. 

This is the alpha that caught him.

Athleticism and sharpness and _submission_.

Dean’s hands scrabble to Castiel’s shoulders to lift him up, Castiel coming willingly and wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist. The alpha shifts and scoots them up the bed until he’s against the headboard, and there he spreads his legs slightly, his thighs Dean’s backboard as he plants his heels and thrusts up ever so shallowly.

Dean gasps. 

Castiel leans forward to start biting along his ribs, huffing his scent, rocking his hips steadily. Dean takes a moment to let Castiel do what he wants, because it feels _incredible_ , and then Dean is cupping Castiel’s jaw in his hands, tilting his head up so gold can meet crimson.

“Fuck me,” Dean commands. “Mate me.”

The snarl that rips from Castiel’s throat is animalistic, and suddenly Dean is bouncing on Castiel’s cock with the force of which Castiel is pistoning up into him. And alright, Dean enjoys being in control, likes being dominant, but the way Castiel fucks him like he owns him is really doing something to short circuit his brain. Castiel sits up a bit straighter to put his mouth to the slope of Dean’s neck, his nose pressing around and huffing to scent where it’ll be _just right_.

And honestly, Dean is glad that Castiel isn’t asking if he’s sure, if it’s really alright to mate him their first time fucking, because Dean _knows_.

He’s ran for five years for this.

Castiel had trained for four years for this. 

The sparks where they touch, Dean’s hindbrain screaming with want, the fact that Dean has never wanted an alpha before in his _life_.

Castiel knowing just from seeing him on screen, knowing that he was watching _his_ omega. 

Dean should have let Castiel mate him on the course. 

Fingers tangling in Castiel’s sweaty hair, Dean knows that Castiel’s entire bedspread is ruined and will need to be washed right away. It’s covered in slick, sweat and cum and they’re not even done yet. A few more thrusts and Dean feels the swell of Castiel’s knot nudging against his hole and it should terrify him, considering he’s never been knotted before, but Dean just finds himself meeting Castiel’s thrusts with intensifying frequency, his lips parting and jaw dropping so he can pant out.

“Knot me, mate me,” Dean finds himself babbling. He’s never _babbled_ during sex. “Fucking _do it_ , alpha.” Dean commands through his blundering. 

And, well. Bless Castiel, because he obeys. 

His knot catches and he fucks it hard into Dean, Dean’s head tossing back with the intensity of pain/pleasure shooting through his veins. At the same time Castiel’s teeth find their mark and he bites into Dean’s neck; Dean releases violently between them for the second time, cum roping up onto his own chest and splurting onto Castiel’s. He feels the alpha’s teeth sinking into his flesh, feels the pheromones surging throughout his body, and when his body clenches with his orgasm he feels Castiel’s knot swell and warmth filling him to the brim. Slick and cum squelch out of Dean’s hole where Castiel is buried within him and they rock together for a few paces, and then Castiel is baring his neck, and it only takes Dean a few sniffs before he sinks his teeth into the sinewy muscle of Castiel’s throat to give him a matching bite. 

They slow to a stop together, Castiel’s knot keeping them bound. Dean struggles to catch his breath, but when his ears stop roaring he hears a low rumble emanating from Castiel’s chest. It takes a few beats for Dean to realize Castiel is _purring_ \- he laughs breathlessly, delirious from post-orgasm, feeling Castiel’s cock twitch inside of him. 

“You’re…” Dean hums, burying his face into Castiel’s neck. Their scents have combined and Dean inhales it greedily; bergamot, ylang-ylang, vanilla, amber, books, and leather. “You’re purring.” 

Castiel’s hands slide up Dean’s back comfortingly, but on the downslide they press into the small of Dean’s back to sit him down further onto his knot so he can grind up into him. “Yes…” Castiel rumbles out, a smile tinging his voice. “...because you’re perfect.”

Dean whines a little at the slow grind of their spent bodies, and when he wiggles slightly in response a fresh wave of warmth releases inside of him, Castiel’s cock not done filling him up. “Well,” Dean tries for a chuckle, but it comes out too airy, “glad you were looking for an omega to boss you around.”

Castiel’s head tips back against the padded headboard, eyes closed. Dean admires the mark on his neck and then allows his hips to grind down again; he won’t be able to orgasm for a while, but he’s growing addicted to the way Castiel’s seed fills him up over and over again with every minute shift. 

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out, a plea as he rests his hands on Dean’s hips to still him. “I would like for my knot to go down, eventually.” 

Dean licks over the bite marring Castiel’s skin, “Fine.” He cuddles down against Castiel’s chest, eyes closing. 

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean; they can’t pull the covers up because they’re sitting on them, and also they’re disgusting and Dean would rather not be surrounded by their bodily fluids. A soft kiss is pressed to the top of Dean’s head and now it’s Dean’s turn to let out a little purr of his own, their chests vibrating against one another, the scent of happy omega and happy alpha filling up the room.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs softly.

“Mmm?” Dean replies sleepily. 

“We should run again sometime.”

Dean’s sleepy smile widens marginally. “Deal.” 

Dean Winchester has been caught.

**Author's Note:**

> hello i have NEVER written a/b/o before  
> *very nervous about this*  
> my [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes%22)


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